"Where you goin'?" queried Cheyenne, stepping out on the trail.

Little Jim gazed blankly at his father. "I'm just a-ridin'. I wa'n't
goin' no place."

"Well, you took the wrong trail to get there. You fan it back to the
folks."

"Aunt Jane is my boss!" said Jimmy defiantly. "'Course she is," agreed
Cheyenne. "You and me, we're just pardners. But, honest, Jimmy, you
can't do no good, doggin' along after me. Your Aunt Jane would sure
stretch my hide if she knowed I let you come along."

"I won't tell her."

"But she'd find out. You just ride back and wait down at my camp. I'll
find them hosses, all right."

Little Jim hesitated, twisting his fingers in his pony's mane.
"Suppose," he ventured, "that a bunch of Sneed's riders was to run on to
you? You'd sure need help."

"That's just it! Supposin' they did? And supposin' they took a crack at
us, they might git you--for you sure look man-size, a little piece off."

Jimmy grinned at the compliment, but compliments could not alter his
purpose. "I got my ole twenty-two loaded," he asserted hopefully.

"Then you just ride back and help Mr. Bartley take care of the hosses.